Baseball gospels: Negativity is you punishing yourself

Dirk Hayhurst

Saturday

Sep 29, 2007 at 12:01 AMSep 29, 2007 at 7:57 AM

It was only Frenchy’s second start in Double-A, yet he was mad. He gave up a rather trivial three runs in 5 2/3 innings. For a second start, that actually was solid. He didn’t have anything to be upset about, but he’s young, and young guys expect perfection.

It was only Frenchy’s second start in Double-A, yet he was mad. He gave up a rather trivial three runs in 5 2/3 innings. For a second start, that actually was solid. He didn’t have anything to be upset about, but he’s young, and young guys expect perfection.

Frenchy was my roommate on the road. A fellow pitcher always makes a better roommate than a position player. We share the same routines, and we can relate to bad outings.

I had been in the room a few hours when Frenchy came in. He had been out most of the night, pacing the hallways and sidewalks, talking to loved ones on his cell phone. Every now and then I’d hear him outside the door, speaking in fast, emotional tones. Shouting meant he was talking with his parents. Whimpering meant it was his fiancé.

He went on like that for a few hours. I caught most of it through the cheap hotel door. He stopped when his cell died. Then, in a huff, he marched through the door, tossed his dead phone across the room and collapsed on the couch.

There he sat, staring into nothing, brow furrowed. I glanced at him, aware of what he was dealing with but in no way interested in hearing him rehash it. I had been there myself plenty of times.

Without looking at me, he started again.

“You know, I just don’t understand what my problem is. It’s like I can’t pitch anymore.”

I didn’t bother to look up as he vented.

“Back in high A, I was so much better then I am now ...”

He detailed a list of reasons, assumptions and guesses for his failure. Then, he began beating himself up, calling himself stupid, worthless, incapable.

He fished for compliments. When they didn’t come, he returned to his negative conjecture. On he went until I lost patience.

“Frenchy,” I interrupted, “You’re 21 and in Double-A. It was your second outing, and it was solid. You lost because we didn’t hit. You pitched good, but the worst part about your outing was that crap you pulled in the dugout and the stuff happening right here.”

He stared at me quizzically. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, it’s over, and you’re an emotional wreck. You’re dumping this problem on everyone around you. This brings a team down. Your self-pity and negativity will make the boys avoid you. Throwing your glove, cussing in the dugout after giving up runs, marching around mad four hours after the game.

“It’s immature, bro. This is a man’s game now. You need to act like one.”

Frenchy’s shoulders fell. His head followed. I had struck a chord. I relented.

“Everyone falls short sometimes, but how you deal with it makes you the player you are.”

Deep down, he knew that. He just needed to be reminded.

After a long pause he calmly said, “You’re right, man. You’re right.”

“Hey, I have pitched way worse than your outing today. I know that terrible, sick, bad outing feeling. But I also know all that negativity stuff is you punishing yourself.”

“Punishing myself?”

“Yeah, sometimes when we fail, we punish ourselves with negative self talk so we can feel like we paid the price to feel good about ourselves. But winning and losing don’t make us heroes or failures.

“You can be upset that you lost if you want, but losing is part of this game. Beating yourself up just drains you, and sooner or later you start to believe it. Take what you can from this and move on. It’s really all you can do. Besides, you’re a lot better than you think you are now.”

Frenchy told me that was the best advice he had heard in a while. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know Frenchy went on to dominate his remaining starts in Double-A, pitching worthy of the prospect title he had.

I’m certain his success wasn’t due to my advice. Rather, it was because of his talent and ability. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget the truth about ourselves, especially after bad events. Sometimes we just need a little reminder that we are actually quite smart, valuable and capable even when things don’t go our way.

Editor’s note: Dirk Hayhurst, 26, is a 1999 graduate of Canton South High School. The San Diego Padres selected the right-hander in the eighth round of the 2003 draft out of Kent State University. The 6-foot-3, 200-pounder pitches with the Texas League champion Class AA San Antonio Missions. He finished the season with a 4-1 record and a 3.19 ERA in 32 games.

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